The concept of Argentina was, above all, comforting to me. I liked being in Argentina. The people were mostly friendly and interesting. Camping is easy. You can buy croissants and Danish pastries in the bakeries. The steak is tender. The bike shop can fix the four broken spokes on my back wheel. Never mind that this, the last town in Argentina, La Quiaca, separated from its Bolivian twin Villazón by only a narrow ravine, was run-down, dried up, monochrome, and half boarded up. I had a strong feeling that whatever lay on the other side of the little stone bridge had to be worse.